My Weird Little Brother
by Eileen
Summary: What if Jack Spicer had an older sister? What if she found out about his plan to conquer the world? It's going to get messy! Chapter 7 up now!
1. I Wanted a Puppy

**My Weird Little Brother**

_Disclaimer: I do not own Xiaolin Showdown, though I do own Tiffany._

Okay, just for the record, I never **asked **for a baby brother. I wanted a puppy! I asked if we could take this strange pink creature back and get a puppy instead, cause, like, it totally creeped me out. Daddy just laughed. I don't think he realized I was serious. I **was **only three, after all.

And he thought it was cute when I would carry him around, "like a little doll", he always said. Actually, I was looking for a place to dump him. Like in the toilet, but he wouldn't fit. I tried throwing him in the trash, but Mom always found him. "Tiffany," she'd say, "don't put your brother in the garbage." I think she thought it was cute, too. My parents are **so** clueless.

And it's just gotten worse now that he's a teenager. He won't respect my privacy or my stuff, he's in and out at odd hours, and I swear I've even heard him talking to himself. Either that or he's got a girlfriend stashed in the basement, though personally I think Jack's afraid of girls.

I **still **would rather have a puppy. Less . . . weird.

Take the time I found him in my room, rummaging through my drawers.

"Jack! What do you think you're doing?"

"I need something stretchy," he said, without even looking up. "Something elastic—ah, here we are!" And the creep grabbed a fistful of my hair bands and ran out the door, right past me, before I could stop him.

"You bring those back! Mooooom!" I chased after him, but he's a quick little guy, and I didn't catch up till he was at the door to the basement.

"Ooh, you're in trouble now! Here I come, Jack . . ." I got about halfway down before I saw what he'd done with the place.

It looked like Dr. Evil's lair. There were gizmos and gadgets that I couldn't even begin to understand everywhere I looked. Jack was attaching my hair band to something when I ripped it out of his hand.

"Hey! Tiffany! I need that!"

"Did it ever occur to you to **ask**?" I looked at the thing he was assembling. "What is this?"

"I call it . . . my Jackbot!"

"Ooookay, you've been sniffing glue or something. There is no way this thing is ever going to work!"

"Says you!"

"Do Mom and Dad know about what you're doing down here?"

"Are you kidding? They only come down here if we blow a fuse or something. They could care less what I do."

_I so do not believe this. When I was his age, Mom and Dad watched me like a hawk! They never let me do anything! And the Little Prince here gets away with murder? It's just not fair!_

There was a big glowing map of the world on one wall, with dots on it in various places. "What's this for? Geography lessons?"

"No, I'm trying to determine where I'll start in my conquest of the world. Which do you think is better, Europe or Asia?"

"Conquest of the world? Okay, that's it, no more _Pinky and the Brain _for you, pal!"

"I'm **serious**! If I start now, I can be Supreme Ruler of the World by the time I'm twenty-five. If you're nice to me, I'll let you have a continent."

"Yeah, right."

"Okay, how about a country then?" He pushed a button on his control panel. "France okay for you?"

I could not believe this. The kid was seriously whacked if he meant all of this! "Wait till I tell Mom about this! You are gonna be in **so **much trouble!"

"No!" He stopped me before I could get to the stairs. "Please! If you tell her, she'll take all this stuff away!"

"Well, yeah, I think that's kind of the idea." I stepped around him and started upstairs.

He blocked my path. "Have I told you, my dear sister, how much I love you? You are my favorite sister, after all."

"I'm your **only **sister. Move, Jack."

"I'll do anything for you, anything at all! Just don't tell Mom about this place! It has to be our secret!"

"Anything?" I smelled serious blackmail potential here.

"Anything! I swear! I'll clean your room! I'll wash, wax, **and **vacuum your car! I'll reprogram your cell phone!"

"Why would my cell phone need reprogramming?"

"Cause I kinda . . . took it apart and put it back together. I think I lost your address book, but I can get it back!"

"You touched my **phone?**" Nobody touches my phone! Not even in an emergency!

"I only needed to look at the insides! I put everything back where it belongs! I just need to reprogram everything, and it'll be good as new!"

"It better be. After you finish with my phone, you can clean my room, wash my car, **and **do the dishes for the next week."

"Next **week**?" He didn't look happy.

"Otherwise . . ."

"Okay! A week it is! I'll have that phone back to you tomorrow!"

"Tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Or the whole deal's off."

He swallowed. "I guess I can do it by tonight. I mean, of course I can! You **will **keep your end of the bargain, right?"

"Of course I will." _If I play this right, _I thought, _I may never have to do chores again! What do you know, Weasel Face turned out to be good for something after all!_

"Oh, and Jack?" I said, as I started back up the stairs.

"Yeah, Tiff?"

"France sucks. Give me Spain instead."

I don't think he'll really conquer the world, but it pays to have him on my side.

Maybe I can even rent him out to my friends.

Yeah, okay, he's weird, but he does a great hot wax. (I mean on the car, you sickie!)

And since I got my phone back, I can get signal anywhere. The only problem is, I keep getting this girl who speaks Japanese. I don't know anybody who speaks Japanese! Am I talking to Japan, or what?

So he's still annoying. And I never did get my hair bands back. But he looks soooo cute in that little apron while he's drying the dishes!

He's so much more entertaining than a puppy.


	2. Mongolian Flu

**Mongolian Flu**

So my parents went out of town for a week, and left me in charge of the Boy Genius, which I totally hate but like what can I do about it, and then to make it worse the kid went and got sick on me.

Well, not **on **me; it wasn't that kind of sick. It was like a really bad cold at first, and then he just got worse and worse and then I had to—

Okay, let's start at the beginning. Tuesday morning, I went in to wake him up for school.

"Come on, Jack, you're gonna be late!"

"Go away," he mumbled into his pillow.

"Don't make me dump cold water on your head!" He did that to me one time, the little jerk. I felt like giving him a little payback.

He gave the fakest-sounding cough I've ever heard. "I can't go to school. I'm sick."

"Yeah, sure you are. Get up."

"No, really, I am."

"I don't have time for this! Your breakfast is on the table. Get dressed in the next five minutes, and I'll give you a ride to—"

Then he started coughing again, and this time it **didn't **sound fake. "Oh, geez, that doesn't sound good."

"What have I been telling you?" he moaned.

"Okay," I said. "I'll take your temperature. If you have a fever, you get to stay home. Fair?"

"I guess."

I went and got the thermometer out of the bathroom. It was one of those new ear thermometers, which meant I didn't have to actually touch something that he had slobbered all over. Yet.

"100.4. I guess you are sick." I sighed; now we'd both have to stay home. It meant calling his school **and **mine, but I couldn't leave him alone. Mom would kill me.

"Toldja." He rolled over, away from me.

I left him alone to rest, and went to call Shayna and ask her to text me the homework assignments so at least I wouldn't get too far behind.

And she started telling me all about the teeny tiny tube top that Alyssa was wearing, and guess who was seen together outside the boys' locker room? And all that juicy stuff. And then she had to go cause class was starting and Mrs. Eastman is a total witch about cell phones in class, and when I went in to check on Jack, he wasn't there.

I just about freaked out. I ran all over the house calling his name, but he didn't answer. I even checked his little dungeon in the basement; the robots hadn't seen him all day. Just when I was about to go and look outside, he came out of the bathroom.

"Didn't you hear me calling you?"

"I had the water running! I couldn't hear anything!"

"Yeah, whatever. Get back to bed, okay? I don't want you running around making yourself worse. Not that I, like, care about you or anything, but Mom and Dad might miss you."

He made a sad little puppy face. "Can you make me some chicken noodle soup?"

"At ten in the morning?"

"No, not at ten in the morning! At lunchtime! Oh, and put those little crackers in it like Mom does."

I sensed trouble on the horizon. If I gave in to this request, he'd be after me all day: "Tiffany, get me this." "Tiffany, fluff my pillow for me." "Tiffany, make me some chamomile tea." I was **not **going to be his servant all day!

The sad puppy face grew sadder. "Please? Pretty please with artificial sweetener on top?"

I sighed. "Okay, but—"

"And bring the little TV into my room."

"You mean **my **little TV? That I **paid **for with **my **own money?"

"Well, I don't **have **a TV! Mom and Dad won't let me have one! I just wanna watch some movies. Oh, yeah, bring some movies too."

This was going to be a very long day.

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Mom called around two in the afternoon, after I'd served His Highness his soup, complete with crackers, and slipped some Tylenol into his tea when he refused to take it any other way.

"Everything okay there?"

"Uh . . . yeah, just fine." I figured I didn't have to tell her about Jack's little cold, since he'd be over it by the time she got home.

The next thing I knew, there was a _clunk _as someone picked up the extension. "Mommy! I miss you!"

"I miss you too, sweetie."

Like, gag me with a plastic spoon.

"Mommy, I don't feel so good." Cough, cough, sniffle. If he was going for pathetic, it sounded about right.

"Aw, it's okay, sugar. I'm sure Tiffany is taking good care of you . . . **aren't you?**"

I was in trouble now. "Yeah, sure. Mom, it's nothing to worry about. It's just a cold or something. I already gave him some Tylenol."

"What?" Jack said. "When?"

"I dissolved them in your tea."

"I thought that tasted funny! Don't do that again!"

"Well, if you'd take them like a normal person, I wouldn't **have **to—"

"Kids." Mom made that one word sound like a royal proclamation: Thou shalt not fight. "Jackie, sweetie, hang up the phone so I can talk to your sister."

"I love you, Mommy." Yeech, gag again!

"I love you too, honey."

_Clunk_ again, and it was just me and her. "Okay, Mom, what's up?"

"Tell me the truth: how bad is it?"

"Oh, for God's sake, Mom—"

"Tiffany Josephine. You will not use that tone with me."

This was **so **not fair! Why couldn't I be "honey sweetie sugarkins"? No, she has to get tough with me! "Sorry, Mom. Really, it's not that bad. He's got a little bit of a fever, but the Tylenol will probably take care of that. If he lets me give it to him."

"Just make sure his temperature doesn't go above 103. If it does, call the doctor. You know where the emergency file is, don't you?"

"Yeah." Mom has this file folder in her desk with all our medical information, the number of every hospital and doctor's office within a ten-mile radius, and notes authorizing emergency treatment if either of us should need it.

She gave me a few more instructions, and then had to go. I hung the phone back up and wondered how I could slip Jack his medication now, without him suspecting. The only idea that came to mind was too gross to think of and involved actually **touching **his pasty little body, so that was out.

Maybe this thing would just go away on its own. I sure hoped so.

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Fat chance.

I spent the rest of the afternoon bringing Jack, in order: a glass of orange juice, a glass of orange juice with no pulp, his _Popular Mechanics _magazines from the last six months, his laptop, two pieces of dry toast, the same two pieces of toast with the crust removed, a hot water bottle, the afghan from the back of the living room couch, the TV Guide, some piece of junk that was on his work table in his lair, another box of tissues, the cordless phone, a Phillips screwdriver, and a cup of tea with lemon and honey.

I was ready to kill him.

I came in to check his temperature again, and heard him talking to someone. At first I thought it was the phone, but then I heard another voice, kind of high and screechy. I pressed my ear to the door to see what was going on. Yeah, I could have just gone in, but then he would have had time to hide everything.

"What are you doing just sitting here?" Screechy demanded. "We have Woo to collect!"

Woo? What was that?

"I can't help it! I'm sick!"

"I'm sick, too—sick of your endless failures!"

"No, no! I'm sorry! I'll do better! As soon as I get better, right back kicking butt and taking Woo!"

"I should hope so! We only—" There was a sudden pause. "Someone's here!"

"Oh, that's probably just my sister—my sister! Hide!"

I gave them a moment, then opened the door. "Jack, who are you talking to?"

"What? No one. Why would I be talking to anyone?"

"I **heard **you." I glanced around the room, looking for this mysterious visitor. "Where is she?"

"Who?" Jack tried to look innocent.

"Your girlfriend."

"What girlfriend?"

"I heard another person in here! What did she do, jump out the window?" I went over and looked out: nobody there.

"Oh, **that**! Uh . . . I was on speaker phone! Yeah, that's right!"

I decided to let it go. I knew what I heard was not a speaker phone. There's a difference between a person on speaker phone and a person in the room, and what I heard was someone in the room. But I was too tired to argue with him. Besides, that little piece of info was better off in the "Blackmail" file. Just wait till Mom and Dad came home . . .

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Finally I reached the breaking point.

"Jack," I snapped, "it's one o'clock in the morning. Take your stupid cough medicine and go to sleep!"

"I don't want to!"

"Well, tough! I wasn't giving you an option here! Do it and shut up!"

He actually cried. "You're so mean to me!"

"Yeah? I haven't even started being mean to you! You wanna see how mean I can get?"

"No," he whined.

"Okay then. Take the medicine."

Slowly, like it was some humungous effort to even move, he reached for the dosage cup and drained it. "Ugh. That was **nasty**."

"It's medicine! It's not supposed to taste good!" Wait a minute—was I starting to turn into Mom? Oh, God, no!

"It probably won't even . . ." He never finished the sentence. Out like a light in 2.8 seconds, a new record.

I waited for a few minutes to see if he was genuinely asleep or would wake up and start bugging me again, but he never moved. Then he started to drool, not a pretty sight. I was out of there.

I went to bed myself, and when I woke up, it was after eleven. The schools had called; after letting them know that we would both be out another day, I went to check on Jack.

I expected him to still be sleeping. I didn't expect him to be gone again.

Déjà vu all over again.

This time I checked the bathroom first. No sign of him. I looked all over the house and couldn't find him. Finally I decided to enter the Citadel of Doom, or whatever he called it.

Jack was sitting at his work table, pieces of robot spread out in front of him. He was asleep with his head against the table, and he looked so cute I hated to wake him up. But he couldn't stay down here; he needed to be back in bed.

"Jack," I said. "Wake up."

No response.

"Come on." I went to shake his shoulders, and he felt really hot. "Oh, no." He felt like he was on fire.

I ran upstairs, leaving him for the moment, and got the thermometer. 103.8. Holy crap.

"Okay, that's it." I whacked him on the back and he jumped up.

"What do you want?"

"How long have you been down here?"

"I dunno. Now go away, I'm working on my cow bots!" I think that's what he said.

"Cow bots?"

"Yeah, uh . . . well, they seemed like a good idea last night."

"Get your coat. I'm taking you to the doctor."

"NO! I mean . . . I'll—I'll be all right. Just give me some more medicine."

"Uh uh. We're getting professional help this time." I marched him upstairs and sat him on the couch while I got the file. Should I call Mom? She'd need to know about something like this. On the other hand . . . it probably wasn't that serious. I decided to wait to hear what the doctor had to say, and then call her and let her know.

That is, if I didn't kill the little brat first.

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Of **course **they kept us waiting forever. The whole world had an emergency on the same day! I kept asking the lady at the reception desk when our turn would be, and she always said the same thing: "Soon. Now sit down, and tell your brother not to play with the fish tank."

"I was thinking of getting some piranhas," he said. "Or do you think they're overdone? Should I go for something bigger?"

"Just shut up and read your magazine," I sighed. I was getting really, really tired of this.

Finally, at like five-thirty, they called us.

Dr. Martin has been our pediatrician since we were born, and he still treats us both like little kids. Maybe Jack likes all the attention, but I'm getting tired of being given a balloon and a lollipop when I leave. On my last visit, I happened to casually mention sex. (Not that I'm actually having sex or anything, just on general principles.) Dr. Martin turned bright red—and he's, like, fifty!—and changed the subject. I had to look up the answer to my question online. Call that patient friendly? I don't.

"Hi, kids!" he said cheerily. "What can I do for you today?"

"You can let me finish my cow bots," Jack said. He was starting to sway back and forth, and I held him up.

"Sorry," I said. "He's really sick."

"How long has he been like this?"

So I told him everything, from the beginning, and he nodded and said "Hmmm" a lot and I knew he didn't have a clue what was wrong with my dumb brother. Other than a strange cow fixation.

"Sweetie, why don't you go in the other room while I examine Jackie?" And this kindly man practically shoved me out the door!

"Give him lots of shots!" I shouted over my shoulder. "The kind with the six-inch needle you have to stick in more than once!"

Jack screamed like a little girl. "Help me!"

I smiled in triumph as the door closed between us. You know what they say about payback.

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"I've never even heard of Mongolian Flu," I said on the way home.

"It's very rare." Jack wasn't talking much.

"Where did you pick that up, anyway?"

He gave me this "You're being an idiot" look. "Uh . . . in Mongolia?"

"When were you ever in Mongolia?"

"Sometime last week."

"Does this have to do with your take-over-the-world thing?"

He looked guilty. "Kinda."

"Okay, then, say no more."

When we got home, I tried to call Mom on my phone and let her know everything was all right. I pressed Speed Dial 1.

"Moshi moshi."

The Japanese girl again. "Who is this? Do you speak English?"

"Who are **you**?"

"I'm—" There was a crackling on the line, and then it went dead. "Oh, great, now I've lost the connection." I hit Speed Dial 1 again, and got a busy signal.

I stormed into Jack's room. "What did you do to my phone?"

"Could you be a little more specific?"

"I tried to call Mom, and got some Japanese girl. How did she get on my speed dial? And what number do I press for Mom?"

"I put Kimiko on your speed dial?" He seemed amazed, as if he couldn't even remember doing it.

"Is that her name? Who is she?"

"Um—no one! Nobody important at all! I'll take her number right off your phone!"

"Oh, no you don't! I'm not letting you touch this phone again!" He might hook me up with someone in Siberia—or Mongolia.

"But I want to fix it!"

"Maybe when you're better. You're not going to finish those cow bots, are you?"

"I don't know. You think they're a bad idea?"

"Unless you're planning on trampling someone with them, then yeah."

"You know, I never even thought of that," he said. "Can you get me some more parts?"

"You're not serious."

"Yeah, I am. I need a Plan B. This could work."

I wanted to tell him what a stupid idea it was. I wanted to say that he'd change his mind when he was feeling better. But I didn't. At least it would keep him occupied and not making endless demands.

"Make up a list," I said, "and I'll go to the store for you."

"Really?" He sat up, excited. Then reality set in. "Wait a minute, what's the catch?"

"No catch. As long as you have the money."

"Done!" He pressed a button on a little box, and a tiny hoverbot brought him his wallet. "Use my Electro House charge card. I get a fifteen percent Future Dictator Discount, so be sure and tell them it's for me. I'll write down all the model numbers for you—they should have everything in stock . . ."

I took the list and went to get his stuff. When I came home, he was asleep, still clutching a screwdriver. I pried it out of his hand, set it aside, and pulled the sheets up over him. He's so cute when he's asleep.

"Good night, Jack," I whispered, and kissed him on the forehead.

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Wait a minute, I did **what?**


	3. Jack the Evil Overlord

**Jack the Evil Overlord**

_(Author's Note: I do not own the Evil Overlord list either. If you want to see the whole thing, it's at http / w w w . eviloverlord . com / lists / overlord . html—just remove the spaces.)_

Wouldn't you know, Idiot Boy is on the computer just when I need it! "Hey, Jack, get off!" I said, trying to shove his bony butt out of the chair.

"I'm busy!"

"You've got your own computer down in your Evil Lair!" It's hard to pronounce a capital letter.

"That's Evil Lair ™. Don't forget the ™! It's very important!"

"Yeah, well, I've got homework to do!"

"Do it on your laptop! That's what it's for! Oh, wait, **you **use it for sending goopy romantic e-mails to Brad Ferris! 'Ooh, Brad! I wuv yoo, Brad! TLF!' Bleagh!"

"Oh, yeah? Then why is your Japanese girlfriend still on my speed-dial?"

"Kimiko's not my girlfriend! Not yet, anyway. Can I talk to her some time?"

I didn't know what to say. On the one hand, at least he liked girls. On the other . . . NOBODY touches my phone!

"What's this?" I said, looking at the screen.

"Get away from that! That's my Secret Plan of Conquest!"

"What, no ™?" I recognized some of it. "Hey, this is that 'Things Not to Do if You're an Evil Overlord' list that Charisma sent me."

"I'm taking notes." He was, too: in a separate window he had a Word document open titled "My Secret Plan of Conquest." There was a lot of copying and pasting involved.

"I like this one . . . '34. I will not turn into a snake. It never helps.' Yeah, kinda hard to take over the world without limbs."

"Don't read ahead! I'm only on number 9!"

"Oh, this is brilliant. 'I will not include a self-destruct mechanism unless absolutely necessary. If it is necessary, it will not be a large red button labelled "Danger: Do Not Push". The big red button marked "Do Not Push" will instead trigger a spray of bullets on anyone stupid enough to disregard it. Similarly, the ON/OFF switch will not clearly be labelled as such.'" I shook my head. "You really believe this stuff will work?"

"Of course it'll work! That's why it's on the Internet!"

The stupidity of that statement stunned me into silence. Then I saw a real gem down towards the bottom of the page. "'58. If it becomes necessary to escape, I will never stop to pose dramatically and toss off a one-liner.' Yeah, remember that movie where the guy blew up his own secret hideout? And of course he **had **to get the last word in, and while he was talking the ceiling fell in on him? How dumb is that?"

Jack was staring at the screen as if it had betrayed him. "No exit lines? Aw, come on!"

"It's not carved in stone or anything. It's just for fun!" Only my freaky brother would take something like the Evil Overlord list seriously. "Look at this one: '30. All bumbling conjurers, clumsy squires, no-talent bards, and cowardly thieves in the land will be preemptively put to death. My foes will surely give up and abandon their quest if they have no source of comic relief.' How can you **not **find that funny?"

"Would you stop reading ahead!"

"Why don't you just print the thing out instead of copying and pasting it? It'd take less of your valuable time."

"The printer's broken."

"You mean you took it apart for bot parts again?"

"I'll put it back together! Just not now!"

"You'd better put it back together! Wait till Dad sees what you've done with—"

"You won't tell him, will you?"

I was torn. On the one hand, I knew Jack could fix anything, usually better than it was before it was broken. On the other . . . ooh, blackmail!

"I won't tell him," I said. I'd wait and see if blackmail was called for.

"Kay." He went back to the list. "Ooh, I like this one! '10. I will not interrogate my enemies in the inner sanctum—a small hotel well outside my borders will work just as well.' Sweet! A hotel!"

"Have I told you how weird you are?" I looked down towards the bottom again. "Oh my God, are they serious? '92. If I ever talk to the hero on the phone, I will not taunt him. Instead I will say this his dogged perserverance has given me new insight on the futility of my evil ways and that if he leaves me alone for a few months of quiet contemplation I will likely return to the path of righteousness. (Heroes are incredibly gullible in this regard.)' Yeah, right! Like anyone would ever believe that!"

Jack was typing furiously. "Read that last part back again?"

I threw up my hands in frustration. "I give up! You don't listen to me anyway!"

"Yeah, yeah. Now go away, I'm busy." He kept typing away on his little project, totally ignoring me as I left the room.

I went and worked on my laptop for a while, updating my MySpace page. I change theme songs every week, and it always takes a while to find the right one. Sometimes I'll find one, and then I'll go to Shayna's or Celeste's or Kaylee's page and they've got the same song, so I have to go find another one . . .

Anyway, Jack was still working on his dumb list when I came back after dinner. "What number are you up to now?"

"Don't mock me! I've learned a lot from this list! Let's see . . . what's this? 'I will not indulge in maniacal laughter'? But I've been practicing my evil laugh all day! What good is being an Evil Genius if you can't have an evil laugh?"

"Oh, just give it up already! This is ridiculous!"

"Ridiculous? See how ridiculous it is when I'm ruler of the world and **you're **in my dungeons!"

"And on that subject . . . '95. My dungeon will have its own qualified medical staff complete with bodyguards.' Well, at least I'll have quality health care. Oh, but then there's number 97: 'My dungeon cells will not be furnished with objects that contain reflective surfaces or anything that can be unraveled.' So I won't get to bring my makeup mirror."

"Stop making fun of the list!" Jack screamed at me.

"Oh, come on. Lighten up."

Suddenly a high, screechy voice said, "And what number is 'I will not waste time on the computer when I could be out gathering Shen Gong Wu?'"

I turned around and saw a purple, ghostly thing in the corner of the room. "Uh, Jack? What is **that**?"

_Next chapter: Tiffany Meets Wuya!_


	4. Tiffany Meets Wuya

**Tiffany Meets Wuya**

"Uh, Jack?" I said, "What is **that**?"

Jack waved his hand in the purple ghost thing's direction. "Tiffany, Wuya. Wuya, Tiffany. Now go away and let me finish this!"

"And Wuya is . . . **what**, exactly?"

He sighed and pushed away from the computer. "Remember the puzzle box Dad sent me from Hong Kong?"

"Yeah. So?"

"She was in it. She's a fifteen-hundred–year-old Heylin witch who helps me find Shen Gong Wu, mystical objects of great power. Okay? Happy? Scram!"

"All I got was a stupid little paper fan! That **so** bites!"

"Yeah, like **you'd** do any better chasing around after Shen Gong Wu! You only care about boys, clothes, your brainless friends, and stupid pop bands!"

"That is **not **true!"

"Oh yeah? I'll show you." And the little creep pulled up my MySpace page, pink sparkles and all. (I keep meaning to change the colors.) "See? Look here under Interests: cute boys, decorating your jeans, unicorns—what is it with girls and unicorns?—stupid pop band, stupider pop band . . ."

"Don't make fun of my music!"

Wuya made a sound that could be described as clearing her throat, if she actually had one. "Children! We have things to do!"

"And the song on your page is **lame**!"

"I took a whole day picking out that song! It's not like the music you listen to is any better! I can't understand a thing they're saying!"

"What's this? Care Bears? You've got Care Bears on your page? What are you, six?"

"Liking cute things is not a crime!"

"**Hel-loooo! **Evil to do! Shen Gong Wu to capture! Save your silly little domestic quarrels till after the Showdown!"

"Your hair is so retro-eighties poofy! Use a little less mousse, why don't you?"

"Yeah, well, the Goth look is totally not working for you!"

"I wear black because I'm evil, not to look Goth! I think Goths are whiny, boring losers!"

"**WILL YOU STOP THIS POINTLESS BICKERING!"**

Whoa. Ghost-lady was being a total b-witch, if you know what I mean. What was **her **problem?

"That's better," she said, as we stared at her in shock. "Now if you don't mind, we have a Wu to collect!"

"Yeah, I'm coming!" Jack said. He turned to me. "We'll finish this when I get back, so don't go anywhere!"

"Oh, I don't plan to," I said, as he flew off in that silly little helicopter backpack. "I'm going to have so much fun right here!"

JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ

First things first: hacking Jack's computer.

"Password, password . . ." I tried EVIL.

INVALID PASSWORD.

"Okay . . . how about WORLD RULER?"

INVALID PASSWORD.

"Crud! What is it?" I tried his birthday.

INVALID PASSWORD.

"Darn it! Something simple . . . JACKSPICER."

INVALID PASSWORD.

"Aagh!" I tried again. "SHEN GONG WOO . . . did I spell that right?"

INVALID PASSWORD.

I looked at the screen, and a thought occurred. "He wouldn't . . ."

RECIPSKCAJ.

The screen went blank, and then WELCOME TO JACK SPICER'S PAGE OF EVIL came up, red on a black background.

"All right! Let's take a look at what Freak Boy's been hiding."

There were links to different sections of the page. I clicked MY SECRET PLAN OF CONQUEST.

Most of it was the stuff he had copied from the Evil Overlord list, but there was a section near the bottom I hadn't seen before. I scrolled down quickly.

_When I rule the world . . ._

_All mimes will be destroyed. Except one._

_The worldwide drinking age will be 12. The driving age will be 13._

_I will have a harem of six lovely females with whom to create the next generation of evil rulers. They will have to be carefully screened—no ugly chicks, no whiners, no screamers, no fat chicks, and nobody who's more evil than me._

_All my enemies will be locked up in an escape-proof prison in the middle of the Grand Canyon. Those who attempt to escape will be shot._

_Owning a robot will be compulsory. All robots will work for me._

This was very weird. I didn't know whether to be amused or worried. Oh, wait, this was Jack we were talking about here—what were the chances he would actually take over the world anyway? It wasn't like it was really going to happen or anything.

Then I clicked MY ALLIES:

_Wuya. A bit scary, but she knows where all the Shen Gong Wu are. I'm glad she's on my side._

_Mom and Dad. Without their generous allowance, I wouldn't have the cash flow to build all my robots. Plus they let me establish my lair rent-free._

_Tiffany. Another person I'm glad is on my side. Could be a very dangerous enemy._

"Nice to know you feel that way, Jack." I checked out the Enemies list:

_The Xiaolin Dragons_

_Or should I say, the Xiaolin **Losers. **Even if they've won four of the last five showdowns—that's just luck! I'm better than they are, and they know it!_

Oh, brother.

I scrolled down and found a familiar name:

_Kimiko_

_Dragon of Fire. Must be because she's so hot! She will be mine, oh yes, she will be mine!_

He listed all her vital statistics, including her e-mail address, cell phone number (which I didn't need, because it was already in my phone), and some really creepy stuff like her shoe size and ring size. What, was he planning on buying her a Christmas present? Do they even celebrate Christmas in Japan?

Once I'd read all I needed to know, I started having some fun with Jack's little program.

First I changed all the ominous black and red to pink and aqua. With sparkles! Animated sparkles! And I changed the title to JACKIE'S PAGE OF SPARKLYPOO!

_Call **my **page lame, will you?_

Then I opened Photoshop and created some interesting pictures. Oh boy, did I ever! There wasn't a photo in his files that I didn't alter in some way, usually making him look silly. Like when I put Jack's and Kimiko's heads on pictures of famous couples (Our heds are pastede on yay!), only I put her on Regis and him on Kathie Lee! I thought they came out so well that I e-mailed a few of them to Kimiko, along with a note that said I LUV U KIMMY! Oh yeah, did I mention I sent it from Jack's account?

I was planning to wait around till Jack came home and show off my handiwork, but I decided it would probably be safer to retreat for now and come back later to see his reaction. My only regret was that I didn't have a camera to record the look on his face.

JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ

Through my headphones, I could just barely hear someone pounding on my door. I hit the Pause button.

"—this door **right now **or I'll—"

I yanked the door open, and he fell into my room. "Oof!"

"What do you want?"

"You know what I want! I saw what you did to my computer! You get down there and fix it so it's all evil again! This is **not **funny!"

"Oh, sure it is! How can you not find this funny?" I showed him one of my "improved" photos, Kimiko and Jack's faces on Lily and Herman Munster.

"You hacked my password!"

"You need to pick a tougher one to crack! Spelling your name backwards only works in bad vampire movies! But come on, you **have **to have liked 'All Your Wu Are Belong To Us'!"

"That's it! You're banned from the Evil Lair ™! I mean it!"

"That was some of my best work! You have to admit, 'You have no chance to survive make your time' sounds so cute in Omi's voice!"

"You were in my sound files too?"

"By the way, where's Wuya? She did come back with you, didn't she?"

He looked sullen. "She said she couldn't stand the sight of me. She's out somewhere."

"You lost the showdown, didn't you?" I couldn't help a little gloating.

"Yes, I lost! What are you gonna do, sue me?"

"Still bickering, I see." Wuya drifted in between us. "You're useless!"

"Hey!" I said. "Nobody talks to my brother like that but me!"

"Yeah, what she said!"

Wuya sighed. "Why do I even bother? I'll be in the lair if you need me!" She drifted down through the floor. It must be nice to be able to do that. On the other hand, the lack-of-hands thing could be a pain.

"Well, thanks," Jack said.

"For what?"

"Sticking up for me."

"Don't let Wu-bitch talk to you like that! She's nothing without you!"

"Yeah, that's right!" he said, perking up.

A device on his belt suddenly spewed out a long sheet of paper. "Looks like you have mail," I said.

He tore it off and read it. "Hey, it's from Kimiko! 'Spicer you sick freak! Don't ever—' Did I e-mail her?"

"Um . . . kind of."

He looked at me suspiciously. "What did you do?"

"Nothing! I just . . . e-mailed her from your account."

"Tiffany! Stay out of my e-mail from now on! What the heck did you say to her?"

"I told her how you felt! Come on, it's obvious you like her! I thought I'd take the initiative and ask her out for you!"

Jack tore the e-mail into little pieces and dropped them on the carpet. "You ruined everything! Now she'll never speak to me again! I hope you're happy!"

"I was only trying to help!"

"I'm going to go change my password. And I'm **not **telling you what it is!"

"Fine. Go."

"And I mean it about being banned from the lair!" He slammed the door in my face.

I wondered how long it would take me to crack his new password, and what color went best with unicorns. If he thought his page looked bad now . . .

"Mua ha ha ha ha!"

What? I can't indulge in an evil laugh once in a while?


	5. Party Time!

**Party Time!**

My parents throw the best parties!

Okay, so I'm lying. They're kind of boring, and I'm always forced into conversation with Brian Bennett, who's the son of my parents' friends, a year older than me, and obsessed with football. European football. He talks on and on about teams I've never heard of before. I can barely keep up with sports in my own country!

He is kinda cute, though.

I was in the middle of pre-party cleaning when I realized I hadn't seen Jack all day. He wasn't the party type, but avoiding the party six hours beforehand seemed like overkill to me.

I was still officially banned from the Evil Lair ™, so I stood at the top of the stairs and yelled.

"Jack, are you down there?"

No answer.

Okay then. I started to close the door, but something inside me said, _Go **down **and look! Make sure he's not passed out in a corner or something! It's okay if it's an emergency!_

I took two steps down, and an alarm went off.

"INTRUDER ALERT! INTRUDER ALERT!"

Suddenly I was surrounded by Jackbots, their weapons armed and pointed at my head.

"Hey, back off, guys! I'm just looking for Jack! Obviously he's not here, so just tell him when he gets back that I'm looking for him, will you?"

The bots powered down and floated away. I went back upstairs and finished vacuuming, dusting, and polishing.

"Hey, Mom," I said, "why don't we have a maid to do this?"

"What do I need a maid for, when I have you?" She tossed her hair back and laughed.

"So all I am to you is cheap household help?"

"Look, I don't ask much of you. A lot of kids your age have more chores than you do! All I want you to do is help around here once in a while. Is that such a problem?"

I shrugged. "I guess not."

"Finish up in here. I want you in the shower no later than six." And she went off to pick up the party platter and the drinks and stuff. Which I would gladly have done instead of cleaning (except I'm too young to buy liquor just yet).

At quarter of six, I went to take my shower and change. I had just the perfect outfit picked out, too: my green spangly mini-dress with the spaghetti straps and my black shoes with the four-inch heels. I couldn't really walk in them, but I didn't plan on doing much walking around. Mrs. Bennett had called and said Brian was bringing his tapes of the World Cup, so I was planning on being stuck on the couch for three hours or so.

So I showered, and put my hair in a ponytail till Mom could French braid it properly, and when I went to do my makeup, I noticed my eye pencil was missing. Again.

_What is **wrong **with that little freak?_

I wasn't sure if he was home yet, so I called him from the top of the stairs again. This time he answered. "I'm a little busy right now!"

"Can I come down?"

"No! You're still banned!"

"Well, then, will you come up here? I can't talk to you like this!"

"No! I don't want you to—I mean, I'm really busy!"

"What are you hiding?" I came down anyway. "This isn't funny! I want my eye pencil back right—why do you have a tail?"

"Monkey Staff," he said, holding it up. "Isn't it cool? I've got fangs, too! See?" He opened his mouth, but I wasn't interested.

"You do know we have people coming over tonight."

"So?"

"So you need to look normal by seven-thirty! Or at least as normal as **you **can look."

"Hey!"

I looked around and found my eye pencil sitting on one of the work tables, unsharpened and looking kind of gross. I'd have to wash it off before I used it.

A shadow flittered over me. I looked up and saw Wuya drifting by, though she stayed out of my way.

"Tiff?"

"What?"

"Can I have one of the tires off your car?"  
"What? No! Those are brand-new tires! I paid a hundred bucks for them! What do you want them for?"

"I thought I'd put up a tire swing. Which corner do you think would be best?"

I sighed. "I'll be back down to get you at seven. Get rid of the tail **and **the fangs!"

"Then can I have the tire?"

"No!" I stomped upstairs and slammed the door, just as Mom came home with the bundles.

"Tiffany, don't slam the door, honey. Can you get the rest of the groceries out of the car?"

"Mom! I'm not dressed!" I had my robe on over my strapless bra and no-show thong, and I didn't want anyone to see me like that.

"The garage door is closed. No one will see you. There's only two bags, and they're light. Could you please help?"

I sighed. "Okay." Then I remembered I didn't have shoes on. "I can't, I don't have—"

"Your slip-ons are by the door."

"That's not where I left them!"

"No, but that's where they belong. I hope you'll take them upstairs before the company gets here. I'd hate for them to see the state of those shoes."

"They're comfortable! So they have a few holes."

I stepped into the shoes (which really weren't that bad; like anyone was going to be looking around at my old sneakers in the corner behind the door anyway) and went out and got the last two bags. They were full of paper plates and cups, and plastic silverware. This meant that there were a lot of people coming.

After I unloaded the bags ("Just put everything on the dining table," Mom told me, and I laid it out neatly), I went back to my room to finish getting dressed. I slid the green dress up my hips and the straps across my shoulders. Then I tugged at the zipper.

It didn't budge.

"Mom!" I called downstairs. "My zipper's stuck!"

"What?"

"My zipper is stuck! I can't get it up!"

"All right, I'm coming!"

She came into my room and right off the bat said "Oh, Tiffany, you're not wearing **that**."

"Why not?" Other than the fact that I couldn't get the zipper up.

"Why don't you wear your pink dress with the black collar?"

"You've got to be kidding."

"But it looks so sweet on you!"

"It looked sweet on me when I was **twelve**. I'm **sixteen **now; I'm entitled to look hot!"

"Where did you get this, anyway?"

"Aunt Joan gave it to me."

"Figures. Joanie has no sense of decorum."

"I think it looks great on me! Or it would, if I could get this stupid zipper to work! Can you get it unstuck?"

"I'll try. Turn around."

I turned around, and she fought with the thing for ten minutes before figuring out that a bit of the lining material was stuck in the zipper. She worked it out, then zipped it all the way up.

"It looks a little big on you," she said.

"It's fine, Mother!"

"I just don't want your top to fall down and expose too much."

"It's not like I have anything to expose," I grumbled. "I couldn't find a strapless push-up bra."

"Well, I suppose it'll do," she said. "Get your shoes on, it's almost seven. Where's your brother?"

"Where he always is."

"Can you go get him?"

"Sure." I stepped into the heels and tottered toward the door, but Mom stopped me. "Don't you think those shoes are a little . . . high?"

"Mom! They're fine!"

"You can barely walk in them! You look like a little girl playing dress-up."

"I do not!"

"Wear your ballet flats."

"But they don't go with the dress!"

"I don't care. I don't want you falling off those shoes and breaking your neck."

I dug my flats out of the closet and slipped into them. "That's better, sweetie. Now, go tell Jack I want him dressed and ready by the time they get here."

"Yeah, I told him already," I said. I went to the top of the stairs again and yelled down. "Jack! It's almost seven! You need to get de-monkeyfied and get changed right now!"

"Fine! Bring my clothes down and I'll change here!"

"Can't you come above ground for once?"

"I'm in the middle of something! Just throw my stuff down and I'll get it!"

Sighing, I went up and got the clothes Mom had laid out for Jack: a white shirt, aqua vest, and khaki slacks. His dress shoes, which I've never seen him actually wear, were polished and laid out at the end of the bed. I scooped everything up and brought it to the top of the stairs.

"I'm not throwing this stuff down," I said, "so you'd better come and get it. You've only got twenty minutes to get ready!"

"All right, all right! Quit nagging me!" He sent a Jackbot to retrieve the clothes. I handed them over and went back to my pre-party primping.

"Sit down," Mom said, "and I'll do your hair."

I sat.

"Is your brother planning on joining us sometime this century?" she said as she combed out my hair. As usual, she did it too hard.

"Ow! Mom, that hurts!"

"I wasn't pulling that hard!"

"Well, it sure felt like it!"

"Do you want me to do this or not?"

"Yes! Just . . . be careful." I rubbed my aching scalp while she went to look for a wider-toothed comb. Once Mom had finished my hair, I went down to call Jack for the last time. As it turned out, I didn't have to.

He appeared above ground for the first time in days, dressed in the clothes Mom had picked out, his hair slicked back. He still had the eyeliner, though.

"It's about time!" I said. "I'm sick of making excuses for you!"

"I'm only sticking around long enough to say hello, and then I'm going back to the lair. I hate these stupid parties."

"At least you don't have to watch three hours of soccer videos."

"When I take over the world, all organized sports will be abolished. No one will have time—they'll be too busy worshipping me."

The doorbell rang. "Okay, this is it," I said. "Act human."

"Very funny."

"I wonder what would happen if I broke that stupid Monkey Staff over your head?"

"DON'T DO THAT!"

I was having so much fun freaking out Jack that I didn't even notice that Brian had arrived until he was right in front of me. "You remember Brian, don't you?" Mom was saying.

I mumbled a "hi".

Brian's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "Wow! You look great!"

"Thanks," I said, giving Mom a "told you so" look over my shoulder.

"I Tivo'd the World Cup, then transferred the games onto a DVD. No commercials, isn't it great?"

"But how will we know when to get snacks?" I asked, as we adjoured to what my mother insists on calling the Family Room, though the family has never all been in it at the same time.

"Where's your remote?" He was looking around; too late, I remembered that I'd left it downstairs.

I rushed into the other room and grabbed Jack away from some lady who was gushing "My, aren't you grown up?"

"I need you to let me into the Evil Lair ™! The remote's down there!"

"No way! I know what you want! And you're not getting it!"

"I don't care about your . . . thing," I said, mindful of eavesdroppers. "I just need the TV remote. Maybe you could go get it for me?"

He sighed. "But if I go down there again, Wuya will be all over me about wasting time! I don't wanna deal with her!"

"One of us is going down there, Jack, one way or the other."

"Oh, all right." He was back in a moment with the remote. "But you owe me a favor!"

"Whatever." I slunk back to the Family Room (yeah, right!) to commence the World Cup Extravaganza. Yay.

In the middle of the Germany-Spain game (which was boring anyway), this girl I'd never seen before came in. "Uh . . . hi," she said. "You must be Tiffany. I'm Ashley."

"You're new to these parties, aren't you?" I noticed that she was about Jack's age, maybe a year older; parental matchmakers at work again. And here I thought the kid had a few years yet before they went after him.

"What are you watching?"

"World Cup Soccer," Brian said, never taking his eyes off the screen.

"Wasn't that, like, months ago?"

"I recorded it. This is still just the preliminaries. The big game's coming up later."

"Cool," she said, and I couldn't tell if she was being serious or not.

We watched for a little while. It went by fast without all the commercials. Germany defeated Spain, who in turn lost to Italy, who played France in the semi-finals, and it was at that point that I looked up and noticed that Ashley had drifted away.

"Where'd Ashley go?" I asked Brian, who was arguing with the screen over a bad call.

"I dunno." At least he looked at me this time, though it caused him to miss an important play. "Wait a second, let me back that up."

_Yeah_, I thought, _wouldn't want me to miss anything. Yippee._

By the time the final game, France-Brazil, got underway, my parents had reached the stage in the party where they dragged out the disco music, and drunkenly imitated John Travolta. We had to turn up the game to drown them out.

"I wonder how hard it would be to put a door on this room," I mused aloud, and then Ashley reappeared.

"Where were you?" I asked, as somebody got a goal.

"Downstairs. Is that weird kid your brother?"

"Unfortunately."

"Boy, is he a freak! I like his setup, though. Evil Genius Lair is really in this year."

We ended up getting our cell phones out and text messaging each other all through the rest of the game. I was so engrossed I didn't even hear what Brian asked me. I just said, "Yeah, sure."

"You will? Great!"

Wait a minute . . . "What did I just say yes to?"

"The game next Saturday afternoon? You did want to go, didn't you?"

_I'd rather be force-fed library paste through a straw._ "Uh . . ."

A message popped up from Ashley. _Go 4 it! He's cute!_

"Sure, okay. What time is the game?"

"One-thirty."

"Okay then."

"I'll pick you up at ten."

"Ten? In the morning? How far is this game?"

"It's only a half-hour drive, but we always have a big tailgate party before the game starts."

"Who's we?" I texted to Ashley: _R U Nuts?_

_Go on!_

"A bunch of my friends I go to the games with. You'll like them. Oh, wear something black and orange."

"Black and orange?"

"Team colors."

The party was breaking up, the adults heading for home before they got too wasted to drive. _G 2 go_, Ashley texted to me.

_Bye._

Brian took his disc out of the player and put it back in the case. "See you Saturday," he said, giving me a little peck on the cheek.

Whoo! My first real boy-kiss!

"Bye," I said weakly, leaning against the door frame. I disappeared upstairs before I was enlisted for cleanup duty. As it turned out, my parents were in no shape to even try to pick the place up, and they left it for the next day.

I unzipped my gorgeous dress, stepped out of it, and laid it across the back of my chair. I'd hang it up in the morning. Right now . . . I had other things to think about.

_Memo to self: pick up a copy of "Soccer for Dummies" before Saturday._


	6. Go Black And Orange!

**Go Black And Orange!**

It's a funny thing, but the day after my parents' parties, they'll let us do anything we want as long as we're quiet about it.

"Mom, can I jump off the roof?"

"Sure, honey, just don't bother me right now."

"Dad, can I have your credit card?"

"Fine, take it, just let me sleep, okay?"

It's amazing the stuff Jack and I have gotten away with over the years, just by asking the day after a party. Hey, they **said **yes! We even have it on tape! So if they come back afterwards and say "I never said you could do that," all we have to do is play the tape: "Yes, you did. Listen."

Yeah, I know, it's a bit underhanded, but look who you're talking to. Evil is practically our second family name.

Anyway, the day after the big party, I suddenly realized I had a date on Saturday, and I needed an outfit! I sent an immediate SOS to all my friends: FASHION EMERGENCY! NEED SHOPPING ADVICE ASAP!

It was almost an hour before I heard from anyone. I forgot Kaylee and Shayna go to church on Sundays—different churches, but about the same time. Sunday mornings are bad for getting together and confabbing about next weekend's plans. Sometime around 11, Kaylee sent me:

DT PNC ON WAY

Which took me some time to figure out meant "Don't panic," and not "Dot Picnic" or something else.

Jack was on the family computer again, buying some electronic junk from and using Dad's account to do it. (Why did Dad have the account? He's a gadget freak: anything with a built-in FM radio, a digital timer, or one-handed pump action—eew, I just realized how dirty that sounds!—turns him on. Why am I surrounded by geeks?)

"Clear out, Monkey Boy," I said, "it's time for a girlfest."

"Have your girlfest someplace else. I'm busy."

"Get off or I'll break nine of your fingers."

"Why only nine?"

"I'm in a good mood."

"I'm gone." He logged off and scooted downstairs.

Kay and Shay showed up right on schedule, and we settled in to do some serious gabbing.

"Omigod! Like, a real date? One on one?"

"No, we'll be with a bunch of his friends. I've never met them, but he says they're cool."

"Why black and orange? What kind of team colors are those?"

"I was thinking maybe a white blouse, with an orange vest, and black pants. Does that sound good to you?"

"Only if it's not, like, lifeguard orange. Pumpkin, you could get away with. Maybe a peachy shade?"

"Do you have your dad's credit card? I can't believe he just gave you the card!"

"Yeah," I said, not telling the whole truth. It did seem like kind of a dirty trick now that I thought about it. Well, maybe just this last time. I needed an outfit!

"Let's go then! I saw this cute sweater set at T. J. Maxx, and I just **have** to have it! Wait till you see it, it's got beads all down the front—"

"Okay, girlfest is over! I've got ordering to finish!"

I glared at the munchkin, who'd picked the worst possible time to interrupt. "We're **busy**!"

"Oh, **you're** busy. I have a Chameleon-Bot to finish, and I can't do it without a 14B! I need that 14B! Can't you talk about clothes in your room?"

"What's a 14B?" Shay asked.

"Out! Civilians clear the area now! Serious world-conquering in progress!"

"Oh, stop being such a dork!" Luckily, my friends don't take Jack's ranting seriously.

"I am **not **a dork!"

"Well, fine. We're finished here, anyway. Ladies," I said, standing up, "it's shopping time."

JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ

An afternoon at the mall with my dad's credit card. The one with a $25,000 credit limit. How perfect is that?

We hit every single clothing store, and tried on everything in my size, before giving up and hitting the food court for a latte and a cinnabun. Yeah, I know they have a million calories and a lot of fat, but I needed the energy! And there's this cute guy at the Cinnabun kiosk who always gives me a little extra icing. I can still flirt, can't I? Call it keeping my options open.

On to Round 2!

This time, at least, we knew what didn't work. So I tried everything that was left.

No luck.

Kaylee got her sweater set, Shay picked up two pairs of jeans and the cutest little bag you ever saw ($12.99! An absolute steal!), but zilch for me. I went home in defeat.

"How'd your shopping trip go?" Jack asked, still on the computer.

"I couldn't find anything."

"I was hoping you'd say that." He opened up another window and called up a photo of a Starlings team jacket. "I went ahead and ordered this for you, along with the matching pants. That okay?"

"Will it get here by the end of the week?"

"It should be here tomorrow. I selected overnight delivery—cost a fortune, but hey, I'm not paying for it."

Right on cue, Dad shuffled into the Family Room. "Have you kids seen my credit card anywhere? I can't find it."

I pulled it out of my pocket. "I, um, found it on the bathroom floor. I thought I'd hang onto it till you woke up."

"You haven't **used** it, have you?"

"No." That was technically true; **I **hadn't bought anything.

"Oh, okay. Where's your mother?"

"I don't know."

"You kids want to order a pizza?"

I shrugged. "Sure."

"Now where's the phone?" Dad wandered off in search of the cordless phone, which usually turns up in either the bathroom or the laundry room. Of course, did he think to **look** there? No.

I took another look at the jacket/pants combo Jack had ordered for me, and hoped it was my size. "You **did **get a Small, didn't you?"

"No, I got a Medium."

"But I'm a Small!"

"The site said to order outerwear one size larger, so I did. Trust me, I know what I'm doing."

Somehow, I doubted that. "We can send these things back if they don't fit, right?"

"Sure. I'll print out the return policy for you. Now scram, I've still got to order that 14B."

JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ

The stuff arrived the next day, and to my surprise, it actually fit. At least, it fit over a sweater and a turtleneck. The pants weren't bad, though they made a swishy sound every time I moved. At least Brian wouldn't lose me in the crowd.

Jack, however, was less satisfied with his purchase. "Is this a 14B? Does it look even remotely like a 14B?"

"How should I know? I don't even know what a 14B is!"

He showed me the page in the catalog. "This," he said, pointing to some mechanical widget, "is a 14B. This," he held up the part he had received, "is a 14F. Are you blind?"

"Want me to get those return instructions for you?"

"Please." He started mumbling under his breath. "Don't know a 14B from a 14F . . . what kind of cretins run this site?"

The front doorbell rang. "Get that, would you? I'll be down in my Lair."

"What am I, your servant?" I opened the door. I didn't recognize Ashley at first, because of what she was wearing: a one-piece catsuit, ears and all. Halloween wasn't for months yet.

"Hi, Ashley," I said. "Nice catsuit."

"The name's Katnappe," she purred. I mean, literally purred. This was really freaking me out. First Monkey Boy, now the Crazy Cat Girl. What was next, The Amazing Dogboy?

"Uh, Jack's downstairs. I guess you know the way." I escorted her as far as the front hall, then let her find the Evil Lair ™ by herself. I didn't know what kind of weird game she and Jack were playing, but as long as it kept both of them out of my hair. I still had ten chapters of the soccer book to read.

JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ

Saturday morning, I jumped out of bed when the alarm went off at seven. I had a lot of work to do before Brian picked me up: getting my hair just right, putting on makeup that wouldn't fade before halftime (did they have halftime in soccer? Maybe in professional soccer they did. I hoped they did—when else would I go to the bathroom?), and finally finishing the book.

_I don't understand any of this! What's this offsides thing they keep talking about? Brian's friends are going to think I'm a total idiot!_

My door crashed open.

"Do you have $3.75? The stupid company's making me pay the return postage, even though it's their fault for sending me the wrong part!"

I sighed. Jack had been occupied in his Lair for most of the week; it was too much to hope that he'd stay down there forever. "Why don't you just e-mail them?"

"I tried that already! They said a 14F was the same thing as a 14B, and I said that if I wanted a 14F, I would have ordered a 14F, and it was their fault for not telling me that a 14B was now a 14F, and they said I could send it back, but I'd have to pay the postage. Remind me to annihilate them later."

"Whatever. Is Ashley coming over today?"

"Don't even talk to me about that backstabbing brat! She stole the Golden Tiger Claws from me, and now they're lost forever!"

"Why don't you just ask for them back?"

"Because they're now at the center of the earth, where no one will ever get them back!"

I decided I didn't want to hear any more of this weird conversation. "Just go away! I'm still getting ready!"

"Give me $3.75 first."

I dug through my wallet. Anything to get rid of him. I pulled out a five and said "I want change!"

Laughing evilly, Jack rushed off to complete his evil mission, or whatever.

JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ

As promised, Brian picked me up at ten. "Wow, where'd you get that jacket? It's nice!"

"Bought it online," I said. "The pants came with it."

"What site?"

"Uh . . ." I hadn't bothered to ask, had I? "Let me check my browsing history and I'll get back to you."

"Kevin has a jacket, but it's not as nice as that one. You'll be meeting him later."

"Oh," I said. I was nervous about meeting Brian's friends. Would they like me? Would I like them? Would we have anything to talk about besides soccer?

I reached forward and turned the radio on, searching for good music. We finally settled on the classic rock station, at least for now.

"How far away is the stadium?" I asked.

"Oh, about an hour."

This was not good. My brain would have a whole hour to think of all the things that could and probably would go—ooh, look, cows!

"Are you okay?" Brian asked.

"Yeah, sure, I'm . . ." I tried to lie, but couldn't. "I'm a little nervous. I've never been to a Starlings game before."

"Well, there's nothing to be nervous about. It's not like you'll get hit in the face with the ball or anything."

"Ha ha," I said, although that was one of the things on my mind. "No, seriously, what's it like?"

"It's the most exciting thing in the world. It's a shame pro soccer doesn't get the respect it deserves in this country. We'll be sitting in the same stadium the Mastiffs play in, but it's never more than half full during a soccer match, even when we're in the playoffs. We'll be sitting in the Nest—"

"The what?"

"It's what they call the special box for the special fans, the Full Nesters. I don't remember if that came from the organization, or if we made it up ourselves. We've been coming to the games pretty much since Day One."

"Wow," I said, and that was the end of my contribution for the next hour. Brian told me all about the early days of the Starlings, how they would come out after the games and sign autographs for everyone, how his mom watched the games just to see him ("She called me on my cell phone once and yelled at me for not wearing my rain coat!). I tried to listen, I really did, but the words just flowed over me like river water over a rock. I didn't really absorb more than one word in ten.

At last we pulled into the stadium parking lot, where half a dozen cars were already waiting. It was still two hours to game time.

A guy in a black jacket (cotton, not a nice satin one like mine) with a Starlings patch on the back was setting up a portable grill in the back of a truck. "Hey, Kevin," Brian said, going over to help him.

"How's it going, Bri?"

"Great. This is Tiffany. Her parents are friends of my parents."

"Hi," I said.

He nodded. "Hey. Kathy, Ann, and Jeff are on their way. Mike and Carla went to the convenience store; they should be back any time."

I have to tell you right now, I am terrible with names. I can remember faces, and I know when I know someone, I just can't remember names to save my life. And when I guess, I'm usually way off. Having to keep six or seven strangers straight in my mind for an afternoon was probably asking too much.

I sat in Brian's car reading my book (and still not really understanding it) till everyone else showed up. It was more than six or seven. Altogether, there were about twenty by the time I poked my head up and looked around. They all seemed to know each other, and I knew none of them.

I felt stupid just standing around. I didn't know any of these people, and I couldn't understand a word they said. What was Manchester United? An airline? Who was Freddy Adou? Would I be meeting him?

I shouldn't have come. I felt like I was at a party where I knew none of the guests, had nothing in common with any of them, and as a result ended up sitting in the kitchen stacking up the empty cans. If I hadn't been an hour away from home, I would have left.

It's not like they ignored me or anything. They were very nice. Kathy tried to get me into the conversation, but then one of the others would mention Washington (their team was called the Monuments, probably the most idiotic name to ever give a professional sports team. I mean, a monument doesn't **do **anything!) or FIFA (which I thought was a kind of tree), and I'd be totally lost.

Kevin made great steak tips, though. And somebody else brought the best potato salad I ever had, so at least it wasn't a total loss.

Then, about thirty minutes to game time, everyone started packing up their stuff and gathering by the front gate.

"All right!" I said, pumping my fist in the air. "Let's get our game on!"

I got some weird looks.

"Never mind," I muttered, and tried to shrink into my jacket.

Okay, so I've been to high school games before, and I've seen InGen Stadium on TV during football games, but I've never actually been inside. It was really cool. The Desperadoes let the Starlings play here in the off-season, and I guess it works out well. Most of the souvenir stands had a mix of Despos (as hardcore fans call them) and Orioles merchandise. Brian bought me a program and a little pennant on a stick. Rah rah.

Even right at game time, the stadium wasn't more than half full. Not the case in football season. Dad only has season tickets because his boss gave them to him as a bonus one year. He used to bring Jack when he (Jack, not Dad, of course) was really little, then he got too weird.

It was when the team in Halloween colors hit the field that the real madness started. All of a sudden, I could hear my heart pounding really hard, like someone beating a drum. Then I looked up. Someone was beating a drum, right behind me. In our section. And he had black and orange face paint on.

I started to get a little scared.

"Great, isn't it?" Brian yelled over the drums and the screaming. I couldn't make out what that was all about; nobody had **done **anything yet, had they?

"What's happening?" I stood up and tried to see, but somebody in the drum line yelled at me to sit down.

"Nothing, yet!"

And that was pretty much my state of mind the entire game. I never did figure out what was going on down on the field, and having drums pounding in my ears didn't help much. Brian did his best to explain, but it was like he was speaking another language.

I snuck off to the Ladies' Room to call Kay and Shay with an update, even though I didn't have much to report. Brian was a perfect gentleman, by the way. Put his arm around me a few times, but not in a grope-y way.

After the end of the game (or at least what I **think **was the end of the game)—the Starlings won, by the way, 1-0—we all gathered out in the parking lot again, and then Brian asked if I wanted to go with the bunch of them out to eat.

"Uh . . ." I had to think about it. "Maybe next time." Oh, no, was I committing to a next time?

"Okay then." He went around and said goodbye to everyone, and then he took me home. And that was my first soccer game.

JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ

Jack was sitting at the kitchen table, a freshly opened mailing box in front of him. "Long game," he said. "You've been gone all day."

"I kind of expected to. What's that?"

"They finally Fed Exed my 14B over here," he said, holding up the part in question.

I examined it. "It looks just like the 14F."

"Well, it's not! It's a 14B. I made sure it was a 14B."

"Oh, who cares?" I said, and went to my room.

I checked my phone for messages when I was safe and secure, and there was one from Brian:

SAME TIME NXT WK?

I thought about it. Get up at the crack of dawn, drive an hour way out into the middle of nowhere, hang around a parking lot with a bunch of people I didn't know, get drummed to death by the guys behind me, pay an exorbitant price for a soda, and basically not know what the heck is going on for two and a half hours?

I sent, WOULDN'T MISS IT!

_Author's Note: The 14B/14F stuff is from the pilot episode of _Red Dwarf, _written by Rob Grant and Doug Naylor. Credit where credit is due, and all that._


	7. Fifty Thousand Words

**Fifty Thousand Words**

October 1

So my teacher gave the whole class this assignment: write a 50,000 word novel in thirty days. Right. Like I'm going to be able to do that.

Then she said it would be 50 percent of the midterm grade. Joy!

The good news is that we won't have any other assignments in the month of November. At least in English class. I still have to keep up with my other class assignments, somehow. Help!

October 5

Registered at nanowrimo dot org. Wow, you won't believe all the people who are doing this. Most of them think they're crazy, too.

I have no idea what I'm going to write. I can't think of a single plot idea to save my life. I know I have a month to come up with one, but a lot of the people on the forums have character sketches and plot outlines and even a title. I have NOTHING:'( (That's me crying because I have no plot.)

October 9

Still no idea. I've asked all my friends what they're going to write, and they all at least have some idea. Shayna is writing a fantasy set in Regency England. Kaylee is writing about vampires in the modern world. Even Jane Smith, the worst student in the class, is doing a fanfiction based on some Japanese graphic novel. Nobody else has no clue yet.

I've asked around on the forums about how to get ideas, and they say look around you. I've looked. Nothing interests me.

October 13

I have it!

I'll write about these Shen Gong Wu Jack's been chasing after. Where did they come from? How were they created? What gives them their power? How the heck should I know?

There's only one person I can ask about it.

Oh, Wuya?

October 14

Wuya has reluctantly agreed to give me some background on the Wu, in exchange for me staying out of her and Jack's way for 30 days. No problem; I'll be too busy anyway.

I've started typing up my notes in a special file labeled "NANO NOTES". I hope I don't lose it.

October 18

**JACK YOU ! HOW DARE YOU DELETE MY FILES! IF YOU EVER TOUCH MY LAPTOP AGAIN I SWEAR I'LL RIP YOUR STINKING GUTS OUT AND HANG YOU WITH THEM! **

Okay, I'm better now. I'm still mad, but I can handle it. All I have to do is copy everything out . . . again. And make a backup onto a floppy. And e-mail it to myself (someone on the forums suggested this) in case I lose the floppy. And have it tattooed on my back. (Just kidding!)

October 22

I think I'm ready now. I have a plan: two hours of solid writing in the evenings, after my homework is done. I type about 30 words a minute, so . . . I should be done by about the 24th. If all goes well.

If a certain little redheaded freak doesn't bother me too much, I'm good.

October 29

Halloween party. Talked about my upcoming novel to anyone who would listen. Most of them didn't care.

October 31

Should I stay up till midnight? Can I afford to miss the start of myzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

November 1

I fell asleep on the keyboard! How could I fall asleep on the keyboard? Caffeine, I need caffeine now!

Okay, it's six o'clock. I can get in a good solid hour of writing till I have to leave for school . . . that's if I didn't kill my battery sleeping on my laptop. Maybe I can recharge it while I'm at school.

Wasting time, wasting time! I need to be noveling!

(later)

I'm at 1800 words since this morning. I scribbled a bunch of stuff on a napkin at lunch, and now I'm transcribing it. With any luck, I should be up to 2500 by the time I go to bed. Not a bad first day.

November 2

Current word count: 2377

Cans of Mountain Dew consumed: 4

Homework assignments completed: 0

Sanity level: 88

November 4

Up to 5000 already! I'm trying to write in order, but as scenes come to me, I jot a few notes and use them as placeholders, and then fill out the scene when I get there. If I have to, I'll spend 2000 words describing a minor character. I can always edit the whole thing later.

November 5

Current word count: 6752

Cans of Mountain Dew consumed: 12

Times I've tried to kill my nosy little brother: 4

Sanity level: 63

Number of words I could have written instead of blogging: 300

November 8

On to Week 2! They say this is supposed to be the hard one. I've already written close to 10K (as they say on the boards), and I'm feeling good. I made sure I have one backup file on the family computer, one disc that I take to school with me, one file on my laptop, and a hard copy just in case any of the other backups get deleted. (Jack tends to delete things that aren't his. I will KILL him if he loses my hard work! Again!)

Two people on the boards are already finished. HOW??????? Are they machines? Do they not have a life? What?!

November 9

Current word count: 8355

Cans of Mountain Dew consumed: 21

New snack discovered: 1 (M&M's are perfect—melt in your mouth, not on the keyboard)

Times I've tried to kill Jack: 7

Times Mom has stopped me: 7

Homework assignments "lost": 4

Sanity level: 78

November 10

Starting to fall behind a bit. Only did 800 words last night. **Somebody**, I can't imagine who, put my cell number on all the telemarketing lists so that my phone kept ringing while I was trying to write!

"Why don't you just turn the phone off?" Mom says.

"But then I might miss an important call!" I told her. Not that I should be getting important calls; all my friends are supposed to be writing, too.

Went to the boards to share my pain.

November 11

Did a good solid push and got up to 12000. I think I'm pretty close to where I'm supposed to be now.

November 12

Current word count: 14586

Cans of Mountain Dew consumed: 27

Bags of M&M's consumed: 2 (13 oz.)

Weight I expect to gain: 3 lbs.

Times I tried to talk Dad into getting a home gym: 4

Times he explained why we can't right now: 4

Times I bugged him to let me get a gym membership instead: 4

Shen Gong Wu Jack lost in his last showdown: 3

Minutes I gloated about it: 27

Times I've wished I could count this blog in my word count: infinite

November 14

Hit 15K last night! YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!!! Big push this afternoon—may hit 20K tonight or tomorrow. I will survive!

November 15

Had a halfway point check at school today. Most are at around 20K, about where I am. Some people are more, some people are less. Ronnie Clayborne was only up to eight thousand and something. He said he does his best work under pressure, but we'll see.

November 16

It had to happen. I was in the middle of working on a difficult passage when all of a sudden I heard "Is **this **what you think of me?"

I nearly jumped out of the chair and hit the ceiling. Wuya was floating right above me, reading what I was writing. I have to admit, it wasn't very flattering to her.

"On one page, I'm declaring my undying love for Dashi," she said, floating over to the monitor. "But on the next, I'm sleeping with Chase Young!" She read further. "And now I'm even coming on to Guan! And you're allowed to pass this in as a school assignment?"

I sighed. "Look," I said, "this is a work of fiction. Meaning, this character who is based on you is not the real you. I'm sorry, but story-Wuya is a ho."

She looked puzzled. "A gardening implement?"

"No, no! It's—" I was wasting precious noveling time here. "It's a word they use at school for a girl who sleeps around."

"And **where **did you get the idea that I was that kind of girl?"

"Like I said, it's fiction. It leads into the next chapter, where fake-you gets pregnant and doesn't know who the father is."

"**WHAAAAAT?!" **Ooh, she wasn't happy. I sensed it was time to take a break, and evacuated the computer room before Wuya figured out a way to kill me without having hands to do it with.

November 18

Up to 25K at last! Hope to get a lot done this weekend—as long as Jack takes off and hopefully takes Wuya with him. I don't want her seeing the next part. And I know she won't like the final climactic battle scene.

I just have to write all the junk leading up to the climactic battle scene.

November 19

Finished the "Chase turns evil" part at last. Now I'm up to the part where Wuya starts to turn to the dark side. All this is completely out of my own head, of course, as she didn't give me a whole lot of details, mostly background information on the era and stuff. I've got to find a way to hide it from her until I can hand it in. She **really **won't like what's coming up next.

November 20

Woo hoo! 30K! Buzz on the boards is that this is the point where you know you're going to make it or not. I've got a good feeling!

Gotta get back to writing.

November 21

Current word count: 32, 874

Cans of Mountain Dew consumed: 36

Bags of M&M's consumed: 3

Times I had to shoo Jack away from the computer while I was writing: 3

Times I had to shoo Wuya away: 5

Character deaths: 3

Character births: nearly 1 (next chapter!)

Sanity level: 22

November 22

In between all the JFK-related lessons in school today, we had to give novel updates, complete with excerpt. I read out the scene with Wuya and Dashi in the cave, and a lot of people liked it. They want me to post my novel online, but I've heard on the boards that that's a bad idea, if you plan on publishing it. I'm not sure yet if I do or not.

Getting closer and closer! Knocked out another 2K this evening, and I should hit the 40K mark soon!

November 23

35K! Time to start planning the victory party!

I finally broke down and let Jack read the first few chapters. He sat there for a long time, and I swear I could see his lips moving. Finally he said, "You wrote this?"

"I wouldn't tell you I did if I didn't."

"Really? I would." He reread the first few paragraphs. "This is that historical junk you got from Wuya?"

"Some of it . . ." I was trying to keep him away from the more R-rated portions of the novel.

"Can I see the rest?"

"No! I mean . . . you can see it when it's done. Plus it has to be edited and stuff. That takes a while."

"Okay. So . . . what are we talking, a month? Two months?"

"Come talk to me after Christmas, and we'll see."

That seemed to satisfy him. He went away happy, or at least as happy as he is when he isn't holding the Monkey Staff.

I am NOT editing as I go. My Inner Editor is not coming back till New Year's, if I can help it.

November 24

I fully expect to cross the 40K threshold by tomorrow morning. I'm putting in an all-nighter, in an effort to get ahead. I'm moving forward into the final act, which is sort of just before Jack (of course, I won't call him that; I'll give him another name and identity, and of course I won't be in it) sets Wuya free from the box.

At this point, I think I may run out of story before I hit the big 50K. Is there a thread about it on the boards? Must go check.

November 25

40K! Wrapping up the story, then I'll go back and flesh out a few descriptions here and there to fill up the word count.

November 26

I think I just had a Story Moment, one of those mythical writing sessions where things come together in a way you would never have expected.

I don't think I planned this:

_"Dashi looked down at the sleeping infant in his arms. Take him far away, Master Wong had said. Someplace safe. Dashi could think of no place safer than the temple, but clearly now was not the time._

_Time, though, was not a problem._

_He used the Sands of Time to travel forward almost fifteen hundred years, to a time when he knew the world would be free of Wuya's evil. Then he placed the child in a basket, wrote a quick note of explanation, and knocked on the door._

_"Goodbye, my son," he said, kissing the boy on the forehead, before he departed._

_One of the senior monks, a Training Master named Fung, looked out, puzzled by the knock. "Who's there?" he called out._

_Then he looked down and saw the basket with its precious cargo. He picked it up, started to carry it inside . . . and the note fell out._

_Fung picked it up and scanned it quickly. "It says your parents are lost to you," he said to the golden-skinned child, who stared up at him with big round eyes, "and your name is Omi. Hmmm . . . why does that name sound familiar?"_

_The child began to cry, and Fung carried him into the temple proper, in search of milk."_

I read that over after I wrote it, and I went "Where the **hell **did that come from?" I know I never planned for Omi to be Wuya and Dashi's son. I **know **she never told me anything like that. I just hope she doesn't see this and get the wrong idea.

The more I think about it, the more I find that it works, in the context of the story. In real life . . . EEEEWWWWWWW!

November 27

Current word count: 44, 660

Cans of Mountain Dew consumed: 44

Bags of M&M's consumed: 3.8 (nearly done with the fourth one—I'm going to be SOOOO fat in December!)

Date I plan to finish: November 29

Place I want to hang my Winner's Certificate: right over my bed, where everyone can see it.

Number of posts on the forums: 36

Number of posts in the "NaNoWriMo Ate My Soul" forum: 34

Online friends I've made: 2 (not counting Chris Baty, who keeps sending me e-mails)

Sanity level: Sanity? What sanity?

November 28

Grrrr! The last 5K are the hardest! I'm trying to write the Jack-finding-Wuya scene in a way that doesn't make it obvious it's Jack, and having a hard time with it.

I'm sending it to one of my board buddies, asking for advice.

(later)

OMIGOD! I went to e-mail the story to Adi (online bud), and I accidentally hit the "Send to All" button. Which means that everybody—**everybody**—in my address book got the attachment.

Ready for the real horror?

Kimiko's in my address book.

:O

If she shows that last scene to poor little Omi, he might have a nervous breakdown or something! I have to send out another mass e-mail telling everybody but Adi to ignore it. I just hope it works.

(still later)

Okay, the mass e-mail seems to have worked. Have gotten responses from everyone **except **Kimiko, but that could be because of the time difference between here and wherever they are—I'm not sure if it's China or wherever. Maybe she just hasn't checked her mail yet.

Anyway, Adi sent me some ideas, and I'm getting busy writing again, even if it is almost one o'clock in the morning. At least I don't have school tomorrow—teachers' conference. I will finish this! I will!

November 29

Here we go, the final push! I'm just basically tossing words in any place I can, to fill my quota. Talk about ridiculously long sentences!

_Wuya, enjoying the freedom of being a bodiless essence, but at the same time missing the delightful power a body could have, floated above this strange looking boy like an untethered purple balloon and wondered what her next move should be; seeing as how she knew nothing of this world, she should stick close to her rescuer and learn the ropes from him—and perhaps, in the meantime, she could teach him a few things as well._

Seventy-seven words! A new record! If I could only copy and paste that one sentence twelve more times, I'd be done! But copy/pasting is against the rules (I asked). I'll have to finish this the hard way.

11:39 AM

49,300! If I really push, I can be done by one! Then I'll update my board word count (hello green bar), enjoy that for a while before validating (purple bar, here I come!) and then print out the certificate. I wonder if I could get a frame for it?

Aaaagggghhhh! These words don't count! Back to the novel!

12:22 PM

I'm writing my Last Sentence! _"The world was in front of them, just waiting to be conquered; all that remained was to reclaim Dashi's most prized possessions and do their worst, and if it meant having to destroy her own son to do it, that was a burden that would have to be endured, deep within her heart."_

Yeah, it's long.

12:27

**_WHAT?!?_** **_ONLY 49,985? HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? STUPID WORD COUNTER!_**

12:45

Well, **now **I'm done! Had to write an extra 200 words to make the count (stupid Nano word counter was off!) but now I'm done! Woo hoo!

Final word count: 50,185

Cans of Mountain Dew consumed: 48

Bags of M&M's consumed: 4 plus a little snack pack I bought from the vending machine

Days I'm waiting till I attempt a rewrite: 32

Relief level: 100

1:05

Right after I posted the last time, my e-mail alert popped up. I went over and read it, thinking it was a congratulatory message from the site.

It was Kimiko.

Let's just say she wasn't happy with my choice of subject matter. I don't think she showed it to anyone else, which is good, but she had a few things to say to me, and they weren't good. I sent an apology, even though it was totally an accident, and sent her a link to a new gaming site. Hopefully that'll do the trick.

1:28

Bad news: Kimiko wasn't the only one who read the original e-mail by accident. Jack's in my address book, too, for some weird reason.

And of course, Wuya read it over his shoulder.

She really, **really **wasn't happy.

I was scared at first, but then I thought, hey, she's a bodiless essence. (Gotta love those vocab tests!) What can she do to me?

2: 45

She can screech in my ear for an hour, that's what! I don't think I'll ever get all of my hearing back. Memo to self: for next year's novel, do not base any characters, wholly or in part, on anyone living in the same house. And if you do, do not e-mail it to them, and then act surprised when they don't like it.

Next year I'll write science fiction. Featuring an alien race who look NOTHING like Wuya. Or anyone else I know.

November 30

Thank God It's Over party! We all read excerpts from our novels, had a little popcorn, and told our horror stories. Nobody else got death threats from one of their own main characters (except for Jane Smith, but that girl's, like, got a screw loose or something); I guess I'm the lucky one.

Mrs. Wright asked who was going to do this again next year, and every single hand went up. She laughed and said, "The human race is composed of either fools or masochists; that's why it continues to exist." I went up after class and asked her what she meant. She said that there are certain types of pain that we forget, and noveling is one of them. What's the other one, I asked? She said I'd find out someday.

Got home and found out that **someone **had "accidentally" deleted my entire story file. I'd be mad if I hadn't printed out a hard copy the moment I finished.

December 1

Only eleven more months till NaNoWriMo! ;)

_Dedicated to all those hardy souls who participated in National Novel Writing Month (w w w . nanowrimo . org)_


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